“It was very good! A bit deformed by the heat—the old lady hadn’t factored meltability into her gift planning, and those days on the veldt were scorchers, but yes, incomparable! I still can’t pass an advert for Fry’s chocolate without salivating! . . . I say, Inspector, you look as though you could do with a cup of tea before we start on the truly heart-stopping moments I have lined up for you. After the high points of the thrill of bogus victory and the fleeting joy of chocolate, it all descends into blood, death and disaster. Fortify yourself!”

Redfyre walked to the door and had a word with Constable Jenkins, then went to the window and puffed nervously on a cigarette until the constable returned. He’d probably just put his job on the line. But it was worth a try, he reckoned. Time for a change of bowling to shake up that straight bat.

“Here you are, sir. You were right—there were some left.”

“Any trouble with the super, Jenkins?”

“Naw, sir! I said as it were a requisition. He just grinned. And made a disobliging remark about your presumption, sir, though he used a term that would have had my granny reaching for the carbolic soap.”

He put a tray down on the desk, carefully out of reach of the prisoner.

“Thank you, Jenkins. That will be all. I’ll pour.”

The prisoner was trying without much success not to laugh. Redfyre poured out two cups of strong brown canteen tea and put a plate of Peek Frean’s chocolate digestive table biscuits in front of him. Some baker’s brilliant notion of combining the buttery shortness of a biscuit with the nectar that was smooth chocolate.

“I shouldn’t try dunking one of these in your tea,” Redfyre advised. “It ruins both elements! These come to us courtesy of the superintendent. No Fry’s chocolate available, but this is the next best thing. He keeps supplies in his locker. Even the strongest among us have our weaknesses.”

They sipped and munched in companionable silence until the prisoner seemed not only ready, Redfyre slyly noted, but eager to continue his story.